BART

I am a magnet for off-balanced, wacky people. I am also the person that the strange, random stuff always happens to. A case in point:

I'm coming home from the A's game last night. I get on the train, plop down into a seat, and immediately zone out as I wait for the train to pull away from the station. I barely glance up as a big, tall guy sits down next to me and pulls out the newspaper crossword puzzle. After several minutes of sitting and minding my own business, this guy--with no warning, and no introduction at all--shoves the crossword puzzle at me, sticks his pen in my hand and says: "Here. You work on it." And then, almost as an afterthought, he says: "Are you any good at crossword puzzles?"

Um, yes I am good at crossword puzzles, so I started working on the puzzle. After a few moments he leans over my shoulder and begins to comment on the clues that I've answered: "Epees! I totally should have known that one!" "Oh, a knit is a stretchy fabric--I wouldn't have guessed that." Next thing I know we're working on it together, and I'm giving him shit about his dumb suggestions for answers.

Then suddenly, he says: "So, in about a minute I'm going to give you my phone number." I don't know how to respond to this, so I just start laughing. But he continues. "I won't take your number though."

When I ask him why not, he says that hasn't really been working out for him lately, so he's decided not to ask for it anymore. When I tell him I'm used to being the one who asks for numbers, he asks if I had been planning on asking for his, and I tell him I hadn't really thought about it.

"Do you have a name?" I ask him.

"Yes," he says.

"And the name is . . . . ?"

He tells me his name is Zooty, just as we get to my stop (where he is transfering to the train on the other side of the platform). As he gets onto his train, he asks "So, can I give you my number?"

I tell him sure, and he starts to write it down on the newspaper, but the pen won't work. The BART bell rings, and the automated voice announces the train is departing. Suddenly the BART train doors close. ON HIM. After a moment they re-open, and then close again. Still, ON HIM. He is still trying to scribble out a number, caught as he is with only one arm and half his body atcually on the train.

People on the train are groaning and glaring and yelling at him to get on, already. People in the station are laughing and pointing. I am hiding my face in my hands in embarassment.

The train doors open one more time, and he darts out and hands me the paper, then jumps back on BART before the doors slide closed and the train starts moving. As I move to leave the station, the women in front of me ask: "Did he just give you his phone number?" Yes. "Did you just meet him?" Oh yes. "Wow that's quite a catch!" they say. A catch? I'm not so sure, but it sure made for a damn good story. Now it's just too bad I can't actually read the phone number.